


Angel Sword and Dark Glasses

by Mjazilem



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: AU, All Human, Autistic Character, Coffee Shop, College AU, Disability, First Meetings, Light Angst, age shift
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2020-05-07 12:59:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19209931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mjazilem/pseuds/Mjazilem
Summary: Aziraphale had a mix of emotions when he got his official diagnosis: Autism Spectrum Disorder. The big one was Relief- he wasn't alone. The things that had set him apart so often through out the years weren't just quirks of his, other people shared his experiences.  Some how that made him feel like he wasn't alone.  He did belong.orAziraphale goes to meet and have tea with Crowley and learn all about being 'on the Spectrum.'





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story about Autistic Characters by an Autistic Author.
> 
> This story is about learning about Autism as an adult. I drew on my own experience and some other experiences that people have shared online. 
> 
> It is intended to be cute and have a little angst, but really just follow these young guys as they meet and get to know one another and themselves. 
> 
> possibly some ableism, mostly just misinformed stereotyping.

Aziraphale had a mix of emotions when he got his official diagnosis: Autism Spectrum Disorder.

Trepidation- was this the correct diagnosis? Was he somehow pretending to be on the spectrum and giving a false reading.

Hesitation- should he label himself with a diagnosis? He's 25 year old grad student, an adult, what would people think?

And then... Relief- he wasn't alone. The things that had set him apart so often through out the years weren't just quirks of his, other people shared his experiences. Some how that made him feel like he wasn't alone. He did belong.

Anathema was the only person he felt he could truly call his friend, he'd met her online in a rare book forum. They'd been friendly online ever since, chatting at least every few days. She had been very supportive when he'd mentioned he was interested in looking into Autism as a reason for some of the difficulties he was having and had had through out his life.

Aziraphale just had a hard time fitting in with people. He always had.

He could never quite understand what motivated the people around him.

According to everything he read about making friends he should have been good friends with Gabriel, Uriel, Michael and the other students in his class at University. They had all started together and had many shared experiences, but he always felt out of the loop somehow. He was always friendly but never seemed to be anyone's friend. Except Anathema, but that seemed to him more to be because she choose him than him understanding how to truly socialize with others.

He usually just stuck to his books rather than try to figure other people out.

Right now he wishes he could go back to his books.

He'd taken a train and a bus to get here. He's standing on the sidewalk in front of the cafe where he's suppose to meet Anthony J. Crowley.

He's an openly Autistic boy that Anathema had class with last semester. She set this meeting up for Aziraphale to talk to him. She said it would be good for him to pick Anthony's brain since he had so much experience navigating the world as Autistic.

Aziraphale had agreed to go but asked her for precise details, when and where were they meeting? Would it be lunch or just coffee? Should he offer to pay? Were there booths or just tables in the place? Did they have scones? What did Anthony J. Crowley look like? What did he major in? Did he drive or ride a bike? He really wanted to know what to expect.

He kind of wished Anathema could have come with him. They'd only met once face to face, at a book fair in London.

He had suggested that she join him today but she'd been called away to assist her grandmother with errands. Rather than cancel Aziraphale decided he would press on.

He could do this and even if his nerves got the better of him... chances were Anthony J. Crowley would understand. Right?

He checks the cafe sign against what Anathema had texted him and checks his watch to make sure he wasn't too early or heaven forbid, late.

Aziraphale opens and closes one hand and then vigorously shakes it out at his side. He makes up his mind, amassing all the courage he can and opens the cafe door.

Inside it smells pleasantly of coffee and baked goods.

Before he can look around for his host a sudden voice catches his attention.

He turns and sees Anthony J. Crowley standing to his left.

“I'm sorry what?” He blinked not sure what was being said or if he'd missed something.

“The pin on your bag... 'Angel Sword,' is that a band or something?” The young man questions.

“It is or it was... it's vintage, my Mum's from when she was in school. I just... I liked the look of it.”

“Neat, lets order, what are you drinking?” He turns and starts walking away.

“wait, I... ah I'm, I'm Aziraphale...” Aziraphale follows as they make their way past the tables to the counter.

“Right, you look exactly like the witch said you would.” Anthony J. Crowley says over his shoulder.

“The witch?” Aziraphale assumed he means Anathema, Aziraphale wasn't sure if he should be offend on her behalf. “You hum... look just as she said too.”

And he really did, from the dark red hair and black clothing to the dark sunglasses Anathema said he wore everyone he went.

“Yes well, she is a bright one. You can call me Crowley.”

“Crowley, alright.”

At the counter Crowley orders. “Cup of coffee, black.” He turns back to Aziraphale who is digging his wallet out of his bag. “What are you having? I'll get it.”

“No, I couldn't ask you to...”

“No problem Angel Sword, I just got paid.”

“Oh well, hum... thank you. Tea please.” Aziraphale isn't sure if he did the right thing, maybe he should have countered and said he'd pay instead. Maybe that would be rude. He hopes it's all alright.

He's so nervous.

Crowley hands his cash to the counter attendant and then points out a table for two in the corner. Aziraphale agrees, it's as good a place to sit as any.

“So what is it that you do?” Aziraphale asks as they weave through the other patrons to the table.

“A little of this, a little of that.”

“I see.” Aziraphale takes the seat across from Crowley and hangs his bag on the back of the chair while Crowley slouches into his chair and drops his notebook and pen on the table.

“What class did you have with Anathema?”

“Maths and let me tell you if it wasn't for the witch and the magic she works with numbers I never would have passed that bloody class. I'm such rubbish with anything to do with numbers.”

“That's funny I thought our lot were suppose to be good with numbers.” Aziraphale laughs nervously, he's the only one laughing. He swallows hard, his attempted joke didn't seem to land.

Crowley raises an eyebrow. “That's a stereotype, all Autistic being good at maths.”

Aziraphale's heart sinks, he knew it wouldn't take long for him to screw up things up somehow but he hope it would be after the tea arrived.

Crowley's expression softens. “... what I wouldn't do to have some Rainman mojo.” He quips. “Numbers just...well they suck.”

Aziraphale breathes out and smiles tentatively, his major gaffe averted.

The server brings their order around. A cup of black coffee and a pot of tea with a tea cup. Aziraphale thanks them and Crowley give a curt nod.

Aziraphale goes about fixing his cup of tea while Crowley rather holds his cup in front of him with both hands wrapped around it. He seems to be just waiting and thinking.

“So Anathema told me a bit, she said you were recently diagnosed.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale tastes his tea, it's sweetened just right. “It's been two weeks since. Two weeks since I was officially diagnosed. I was, before that, reading a lot on the subject of Autism and had come to some conclusions on my own. I aways had a feeling, you know, I just needed to know and now I do... I am it or it is me, I mean to say... I am a person with Autism, it's official.”

He smiles at his declaration, both proud and nervous, fiddling with the spoon in his hand all the while. Crowley smiles too, it was small and kind of sly, but a nice smile none the less.

“It's a relief isn't it.” Crowley says knowingly.

Aziraphale sighs. “It really is.”

“That's a really common feeling particularly with people who get confirmed as Autistic later in life.” Crowley waves his hand, gesturing dramatically. “It's like finally getting a reason, for all the questions and crap, and the headaches and the so called quirks that set you apart.”

Aziraphale agrees enthusiastically. “It was a weight off of my shoulders. Honestly, I had started to think something might be seriously wrong with me. It turns out my brain just runs a different operating system from most people I know. They're running windows and I'm on iOS.”

Crowley chuckles at that, he had heard it put like that before, it was an apt comparison and he liked to think of himself as a sleek Mac. He takes a drink of his coffee and Aziraphale swears he sees him grimace at it. Maybe the coffee is still too hot.

“Yeah I felt like I wasn't an alien from another planet for the first time when I finally found out. It helped. Helped me help myself...”

Aziraphale thinks Crowley is going to continue for a second but he doesn't say anything further just looks down at his coffee.

“I felt that way too, most of my life like I must be from another planet, I just don't fit in with everyone else.”

“Yeah allistics are good at making a person feel different.” It sounds bitter, but only a little.

“Allistics?” Aziraphale isn't familiar with the term.

“Anyone not Austistic.”

“Ahhh” Aziraphale pulls out a little notebook and a makes a note.

“There's a community online, you know, you should check the actuallyautistic tags on some of the social sites. Lots of people sharing their experiences and the like. You'll pick up the lingo.”

“Are there lots of people with Autism online than?” Aziraphale didn't visit many of the main social media site and when he did it was mostly to look at posts from other bibliophiles, but he could branch out.

“Yeah, lots. Better at socializing through typing our lot, being able to edit before hitting send is a wonderful thing.”

Aziraphale knew the truth to that.

“There's some good people... one thing you should know is many of them prefer to call themselves Autistic rather than...” He puts on a snide voice and uses air quotes. “person with Autism.”

Aziraphale tenses. “I'm sorry it's what I saw...”

“In the books, yeah I know, in all honesty, the community is divided on labels but a lot of the time it's teachers and parents pushing for person first language. As far as I'm concerned it's bullocks. 'Person with Autism' separates the person from the Autism and frankly you can't do that, my brain is Autistic and my brain is me, there's no separation. I'm Autistic. It's who I am.”

Crowley takes a big drink from his cup to punctuate his statement and he definitely grimaces this time. He sticks his tongue out and everything.

“Is it not good?” Aziraphale asks concerned.

“What?” Crowley twitches and sets his cup down, a little further from himself than necessary.

“Your coffee is it bad, burnt or something? We could have them make a new pot.” He starts to look around to see if someone was at the counter he could talk to.

“No, no. I just don't like it.”

Aziraphale startles, confused. “If you don't like it than why did you order it?”

Crowley sighs dramatically “Because I've decided I'm going to drink black coffee. All the tough guys in movies and cool musicians they all drink their coffee black. I figure if I keep drinking it I'll get used to it eventually.”

“hum...” Aziraphale can't seem to argue with the logic even if he feels it's a bit silly. “Would you like some tea for now? I'll share.”

“Naahh.” He takes another sip of the coffee and works hard to swallow it. Hissing through his teeth when he does.

Aziraphale grimaces now in sympathy. “Really, there's more than enough.” He spots a server clearing a table. “Excuse me, could we have another cup please.” He asks, it is a bold move for him, he's usually very anxious about asking for anything but he felt compelled to do it.

Crowley smiles genuinely now and Aziraphale thinks he notices him relax slightly. He sits up a bit straighter, a bit more forward.

Aziraphale pours tea into the new cup brought to the table and places it with the cream and sugar in front of Crowley so he can fix it for himself.

“Hum about this diagnosis business, there's something that has been bothering me.” It is something Aziraphale needs to get off his chest.

“Oh?” Crowley adds a little sugar to his tea and then milk and doesn't bother to stir it.

“I must admit... over the past two weeks... sometimes I feel like a fraud, like oh yes all these things I read about sound like me but not every one of the symptoms fits and yes the test came back positive but maybe I was subconsciously faking.”

Crowley hums this time and nods. “That's not an uncommon feeling. Happens to the best of us. Somedays are really good days and you're passing for neurotypical...” Crowley see the question coming and answers before it's asked. “Not Autistic but also not ADHD or OCD or any other Neurological ‘difference’...” Aziraphale writes. “got it... so you're passing and you start to feel 'maybe I'm not autistic, maybe I was faking, maybe it was a phase and I'm all better now. Then something happens, something bad, something good, just something and you'll be reminded just how Autistic you are.”

Aziraphale blinks and considers this.

Crowley sips his tea without issue. “If it helps, I clocked you for Autistic before you even walked in the door.”

“What? You can do that?”

Crowley shrugs. “There are some tells that are fairly accurate. The way you walked up to the building and stopped before coming in to check the time and the sign all while rocking back and forth on your heels. And you were totally flapping before you came in.”

Aziraphale gasped sure he'd just been told he'd done something rude.

“I assure you I wasn't, what did you say... flapping?”

“oh you did.” His smile was decidedly cheeky.

“I just...”

“Oh relax, I just mean hand flapping. Lots of Autistics flap their hands. It's a stim. Done to release energy or for fun or well it's body language in some cases I suppose.”

“Oh, oh yes I read about those 'self stimulatory behaviors,' rocking, spinning, and as you said flapping.”

“Yeah well that's a few, there's a bunch of stims people will do, some people find stuff to stim with, you've been stimming with that spoon for nearly ten minutes now.”

Aziraphale looks down at his hand and realizes he has been fidgeting with it this whole time.

“Even the way you talk is Autistic.”

“The way I talk?”

“You've got an old fashioned, formal way about how you speak, that's seen in lots of Autistics. Others of us are much better at picking up on how people speak like now in the twenty first century.”

Aziraphale is intrigued, if he was so outwardly Autistic how come no one picked up on it sooner. “I didn't know that about the way I speak.”

“It's nice... makes you sound smart.” Crowley throws the compliment out nonchalantly.

Aziraphale tries not to blush and promptly fails.

“You, you sound cool.”

“I try...”

“Is that why you wear the sun glasses?” As soon as the question leave his mouth Aziraphale feels bad, he isn't sure if it's something he should ask about. Anathema didn't say anything more than that he always wore them which had left Aziraphale terribly curious.

“Oh... they do add to the whole image I think but, hum, no.” Crowley straightens the glasses, though they really didn't need to be “I'm sensitive to light.”

“Oh, like it hurts your eyes?” Aziraphale asks concerned.

“eehhh well sort of.” Crowley shakes his head in a noncommittal kind of way. “One of the things I found out when I was diagnosed was that I have sensory sensitivity, lots of Autistics do...” Aziraphale listens very seriously. “Autisms being a spectrum and all that, some Autistics are hypersensitive, some are hyposensitive, meaning they aren't sensitive, and then everywhere in between. Me, I'm on the hyper end when it comes to light.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale nods starting to understand.

“Sensory things can just make life hell, you know. Touch that makes your skin crawl, sound that makes in impossible to hear anything else, light that is just too bright, too much, just unpleasant and yeah sometimes painful. The light shining in my eyes makes it hard to concentrate. Some lights flicker, it just grating and bothering. The sunglasses help block a lot of it out. Helps, keeps me from burning out and melting down all the time because of it.”

Aziraphale writes down burning out, melting down.

“Also I'm not a big fan of eye contact and the glasses kind of hide that from people who think eye contact is sooo damned important.”

Aziraphale hadn't thought about that.

With the glasses on he'd just assumed Crowley was looking him in the eye while they talked, but he really couldn't tell where he was looking.

His Mother had told him 'if you want people to know you're listening you must look them in the eye.'

He'd read that many Autistic have trouble maintaining eye contact. “That must be difficult finding it unpleasant to look people in the eye.”

“You don't know the half of it. What about you, do you have difficulty with it?

“I don't... I don't know.” Aziraphale looks down at his tea, trying to think about his own experiences in an Autistic context. “I can't say I've found it painful, awkward at times certainly and I, well I have to think about it. It doesn't come naturally, not the way I think it should. I have to remind myself when talking with someone to 'find their eyes, keep looking at their eyes, you don't want to seem rude keep eye contact' it can be tiring.” He looks up at Crowley again, at his dark lenses. “I like talking to you with your glasses on, it keeps me from having to work so hard.”

“Cheers, Angel” Crowley smiled into his tea cup as he drained the last of his tea.

“Angel?” Aziraphale crinkles his nose.

“you know, Aziraphale Angel Sword, that's how you're going in my phone.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> after the meeting - warning: meltdown because of a bad roommate

Aziraphale boards his train and picks a seat by a window about midway down the car. He smiles as people approach his row, he doesn't want to appear unwelcoming to anyone. His mum had told him to smile at everyone he meets so they know he's friendly.

He secretly hopes no one sits next to him. He's happy but tired and just kind of wants to watch the scenery go by without having to make conversation.

He's doing just that, watching the fields roll by the window when his phone buzzes.

It's a text from Anathema -How did it go?-

He smiles to himself, thinking about it. - It was pleasant – 

\- Well that's something... what happened? Did you talk long? Did he answer any questions you had? -

\- He did. It was all quite fascinating. I got to the cafe, just a little early, about five minutes. When I went inside, Crowley was already there. He said he liked the pin on my bag, the one I got from my mum. He said I looked like you described. He certainly did, glasses and all. He ordered black coffee but he didn't like it, he said he was trying to get used to the taste, I ordered tea, it was quite good, he paid -

\- That was nice of him -

\- He was nice -

\- Nice?!? I did't think I'd ever hear Crowley described as nice! -

\- Well he was very nice to me. I liked him. -

\- haha, that's great, I'm really glad, any plans to meet again?-

-We exchanged numbers, I think we might talk again. I'm under strict orders to only text and not call. -

\- Yep, that's Crowley. I'm glad it worked out. I was hoping you two would get along.-

\- It was so nice to talk to someone who understands. -

\- did it help that he was cute?-

-Anathema!-

-What, he is! -

\- well yes, I agree. - Aziraphale blushes.

 

* * *

 

Crowley opens the door to his flat and is greeted with the obnoxious voice of his flatmate as soon as he steps inside. “What're you doing home?” Hastur asks with an annoyed sigh.

“Hi, to you too.” Crowley returns snidely and then notices they're not the only ones in the flat. “all of you...”

Ligur, Dagon, Beelzebub and other friends of Hastur's that Crowley didn't know the names of were all in the little kitchen, beers in hand.

“You didn't tell me you were having people over.” Crowley breathes out, his eyes wide behind his glasses. It feels like he's been blindsided, he tenses.

“You weren't suppose to be home.” Hastur says lowly.

“Then where was I suppose to be, tell me that?”

“I don't know, you're always late, I don't know where you go.”

“You could have texted me.” Crowley's voice raises an octave.

Ligur comes up beside him, he already smells of alcohol. He claps Crowley on the shoulder, causing Crowley to grimace back away from him and his hand “Hey man lighten up, don't be sooo uptight.”

Someone chuckles, another snorts. Crowley shifts uncomfortably, blinking in disbelief behind his glasses.

He hates this. His plans for the night did not include a bunch of people getting drunk in his flat. If he'd at least been given a heads up he could have made other plans or at least prepared himself for... all of this.

“I'm going to my room.”

“You could hang out...” Ligur suggests, and Dagon groans.

Beelzebub speaks up. “We just ordered pizza.”

Crowley puts some distance between himself and the others. “No, no that's ok.”

He doesn't like people in his space, he doesn't like to be touched, and he's not crazy about out of control drunk people who are loud and unpredictable.

Crowley turns and escapes to his room, closing the door swiftly behind him.

* * *

 

“Man, why's your flatmate always like this?”

“Thinks he's better than everyone else, real flash bastard.”

* * *

 

Crowley leans on the back of the closed door and sucks in a breath. 'this is fine, it's fine, It's normal' he thinks.

It is all normal and he knows it it. It's normal for a college flatmate to bring people over to hang out and not think to tell the other's that live in the flat.

His reaction to Hastur having people over and surprising him is a pretty typical Autistic reaction to the unexpected.

Understanding all this doesn't mean Crowley can stop the way he feels.

He breathes through his teeth, hissing as he slinks to his bed. He grabs his headphones from the nightstand and pulls his plush snake out from under his pillow.

He'd had it for years, it was his favorite. It used to go everywhere with him. Now he keeps it hidden under his pillow, hoping Hastur won't see it.

He moves to his desk, sits and drapes the black and red snake across his shoulders. it's soft and filled with sand or something that made it a nice weight.

The buzzer to the flat sounds and Crowley winces at the noise, even through his closed door. It's either the pizza or more people, he doesn't care to find out which. He puts his headphones on and tries to drowned out the BS going on around him with Queen.

He closes his eyes and rocks back and forth so his back thumps on the back of his desk chair, it's a rolling padded one so it doesn't hurt, it's just the feel is comforting.

He thinks about getting on the computer. He thinks about drawing. Maybe writing.

It all seems impossible right now.

The idea of doing anything right now is just out of his reach.

He couldn't concentrate, even if he wanted to, damn executive disfunction. Stupid Hastur sending him into a meltdown.

Maybe he should just just go to sleep. He was wiped out even without all the craziness here in the flat.

The meeting today had been alright, nothing crazy. He even liked Aziraphale Angel Sword, he was pretty easy to talk to, but it was tiring and coming home had just drained what was left of his energy.

He stays in the same position for the while, sitting at his desk, for awhile. He just doesn't know what to do. He rubs his thumb along the velvet like fabric of 'Snake's' belly. He fights against the frustration he's feeling.

It wasn't fair. Being stuck, being blindsided, being blah after he had had such a good day.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and his first thought is that it must be Hastur, probably being a dick. He ignores it. His phone buzzes again and he groans, he really needs to find a new place and get away from these a-holes.

He pulls the phone out of his pocket and looks to see what in the world is so important...

\- Thank you for meeting with me today, I learned a lot :) -

\- I have arrived safely at home. -

Crowley smiles at his phone, it was Aziraphale. He hadn't thought about texting to see if he' d gotten home, it seems it might have been patronizing to ask. He was a grown man after all. But it was nice to know.

\- Glad to hear it Angel it was cool talking with you -

\- You explain things really very well. -

\- Happy to help -

\- Do you think we could meet again? -

\- hum sure -

\- Great! What about same time next week? -

Crowley pauses, could he do next week? Would it fit into his schedule? Would he be able to socialize?  
At the moment he doesn't feel like he could talk to anyone without the feeling of his brain burning.

But he wants to. He's surprised to find. He wants to see Aziraphale Angel Sword again.

\- Alright, same time and place? -

\- It's a date! -

Crowley stares at the phone and then it buzzes again and in quick succession.

\- Not a date! -  
\- I mean to say not like a date date... -  
\- I mean sounds good. -

Crowley chuckles.

\- Yep -

\- Have a good night. -

\- Thanks You Too -

Crowley sits back and holds his phone. That was different, it was nice.

He wakes up his computer and googles 'Angel Sword' to see if he can find any videos online.

Later after three grainy videos of Angel Sword and two tangents and a video hole into nineties grunge bands Crowley realizes his stomach is growling, it's well past dinner time and he's hungry.

He pokes his head into the hall. He doesn't hear anyone. It's late, maybe Hastur and his friends had gone out. He chances heading to the kitchen.

They are definitely no longer home, but they'd left their trash. Crowley wrinkles his nose at the smell of old pizza. It was gross.

He wants to gag.

He moves to the kitchen and find he doesn't know what to do. He's hungry but after that smell nothing sounds very good to him. He doesn't know what to eat. Making something isn't possible, he's too burnout to do that right now.

He sees an apple in the fridge and figures that's the best he'll do. He takes the apple and a glass of water back to his room.

He eats half the apple and falls asleep at his desk.

* * *

 

Aziraphale heats up chicken and pasta and garlic bread he'd had leftover from the night before and stays up into reading and thinking about what he wants to ask Crowley next.

Throughout the next week Aziraphale texts questions to Crowley who does his best to answer them.

\- What does S. I. stand for? -

\- Special Interest -

\- ah, that makes sense. -

\- Have you ever used a weighted blanket? -

\- Too expensive 💷💷💰-

-Do you think it would be helpful? -

\- yes -

\- Are you a cat Autistic or a deer Autistic? -

\- What? -

\- It's a meme thingy. -

\- neither -

\- come on -

\- fine, a cat -

\- Me too! -

\- Can repeating Shakespeare be a stim? -

\- Yes also echolalia -

\- Hold on, googling... - - Oh my Gosh! This explains so much!! -

\- lmao -

\- Don't laugh at me, I'm on a journey of self discovery here! -

\- 😂 -

\- You Fiend! -

\- 😎 -

\- You snake! -

\- 🐍 hisssss -

\- You dork -

\- Hey! -

\- I'll see you tomorrow. 1:00? -

\- Yep, I'll be there -

\- I'll pay this time but only if you get something besides black coffee. I want you to actually enjoy what you get. -

\- I'll think about it -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! With every review an angel gets it's wings!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second meeting at the Cafe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is Burnt out in this chapter, probably because I'm burnt out. My significant other had knee surgery a little over week ago and I'm totally burnt out taking care of the house and everything but haven't totally melted down in like five days. wahoo. 
> 
> So Crowley is dealing with Brain Fog and some Executive Disfunction and a bit of mutism and Aziraphale is an Angel just a figurative angel ready to help Crowley out.

On Saturday Aziraphale wakes up in a chipper mood. He washes his face, puts on his robe and goes to get breakfast. He fights his first instinct just like he had the past couple mornings, to turn the lights on in the kitchen.

 

It was just what he'd always done. Everyone he knew walked into a room and turned the lights on, whether it was particularly dark or not.

 

After what Crowley had said about lights and how they bothered him Aziraphale had wondered if lights could bother him too. What he'd found so far this week was it was kind of nice to just have the lights off. It's quiet, peaceful. He likes it. 

 

He thinks there might be something to what Crowley said about light sensitivity.

 

He eats his toast and reviews his route to get to his meeting with Crowley this afternoon.

 

* * *

 

Crowley has his sunglasses and headphones on, his head down and is walking fast down the sidewalk.

 

He didn't mean to be running late. His whole morning has gone pear shaped. He kept telling himself he needed to leave, he had to get going, he wanted to go, but he couldn't seem to get his feet and his brain moving in the same direction.

 

His brain wanted to watch one more hoverboard fail video compilation and try on another shirt while he was practically begging himself to get a move on. blasted bullocks, it was frustrating.

 

He was just too burnt out to shift gears in any kind of helpful manner. Stupid burn out. He'd had a crap night, hell, a crap week with his roommate and his roommate's friends being over all hours and he's all out of sorts.

 

He had wanted to be at cafe earlier so he could figure out want he was going to order and scope out a table. Of course that didn't work out, and of course the place didn't have an online menu.

 

'this is fine, it's fine' He thinks to himself, trying to psych himself up. 'This is no problem.' still he could feel his anxiety raising.

 

There were just a lot of unknowns. Would the cafe be crowded today, would it be too loud, would Aziraphale be worried or upset by him being late? Would he recognize Aziraphale when he saw him again?

 

He had Anathema's description of Arizaphale, and he'd looked just like the description before, he surely wouldn't change that much in a week. 'I'll know him when I see him. This is fine'

 

Crowley crosses the street, technically he has the right of way but it maybe wasn't the most prudent time to cross, there's a car trying to turn in his direction.

 

The car honks at him and he sneers back to them. 'Go on and hit me mate, I'm expensive.' He thinks and keeps walking.

 

He takes long strides with his long legs but he's still late, not by much though. 'only five minutes' he checks the clock on his phone and is thankful he made it in at least a reasonable time.

 

He steps inside the cafe and is hit by new smells and sounds. Someone drops a kettle or something that crashes with a clang in the back and it makes an awful noise that makes Crowley cringe.

 

He stands in the doorway and tries to figure out what to do next.

 

Someone bumps into him and brushes past as they step around him and into the cafe. He shrinks back with a four letter word on his lips and then realizes he is technically in the way.

 

He needs to find Aziraphale, that's why he's here.

 

He looks around and doesn't spot him at first. He feels his anxiety spike, 'what if he left, because I wasn't here.'

 

Then Crowley spots him. He sees Aziraphale's unmistakable blond head of hair pop up in front of the pastry case at the counter. He looks to be examining the contents rather intently.

 

Crowley sighs in relief... one hurtle down.

 

He makes his way into the cafe and up to the counter. He slides in next to the pastry case.

 

He's about to say something to the blond, the words are almost to his lips when Aziraphale stands up straight and startles to find Crowley standing next to him. “Oh my dear!”

 

Crowley snorts amused at Aziraphale's reaction.

 

“Didn't you just slide right in here.” Aziraphale holds a hand to his chest like he's recovering from a fright.

 

“Angel” Crowley greets, a small smile plays at the corner of his mouth.

 

“Crowley” Aziraphale looks at him slyly and then turns back to the counter. “what would you like to get? My treat this time.”

 

Crowley had been thinking about what he would want to get since Aziraphale offered yesterday.

 

If he couldn't get black coffee today maybe he could get a cappuccino, he's never had one before but he might like it. He could get hot chocolate, that would be familiar but at the moment it sounds too sweet. He could go with tea, it was good last time... he just doesn't know...

 

He tries to look at the menu hanging above the counter. He wishes he'd been here earlier to look properly. Right now he's trying to decipher the letters and numbers on the board and they are all too much and not making any sense.

 

Aziraphale hums to himself as he looks up at the menu too. “It is a lot isn't it. How about we get tea for two, at least to start with.”

 

It was a simple solution. Crowley breathes, happy for the suggestion “sure.”

 

His relief at not having to make a decision is cut short. “and what about something to eat? Their pastries look positively divine today.”

 

Crowley grimaces, if he didn't know what to drink he definitely doesn't know what to eat here. He has no idea what to get, no idea what he'd eat, he's never gotten any food here before.

 

They've got muffins, tarts, scones, pie, bread, biscuits... he doesn't know if he'd like any of them. He also doesn't know what Aziraphale can spend, how much is too much? It was all making his brain hurt. “Whatever you want is fine.” It seems like a safe thing to say, to get out of having to think any further.  
  


Aziraphale purses his lips. “Wouldn't you like something?”

 

“It's too much.” too much thinking, too much to ask his brain to process right now. Burn out is a bitch.

 

“Have you eaten? We could split something. What sounds good?”

 

There were too many questions.

 

“Apple.” The word falls out of Crowley's mouth and he winces as Aziraphale blinks at him, slightly perplexed.

 

“I don't know if they sell apples. I can ask, if that's what you'd like to have.” Aziraphale offers kindly.

 

Crowley bites his lip. He likes apples, they're something he always tries to have on hand because he can always seem to eat them. The taste, the texture, the preparation are all good for him. Plain old apples were his go to, but applesauce was good, dried apple chips were exciting if he was feeling adventurous.

 

But he didn't mean an 'apple' at the moment. He just couldn't get the right words out because of all the blasted times for it to happen, brain fog was setting in...

 

Then like a revelation Aziraphale Angel Sword practically reads his mind.

 

“or would you like something with apple in it? They've got an apple tart... the apple cake looks particularly good and there's a big enough piece to share.”

 

“Yes.” Crowley nods. “That's good.”

 

“Excellent! I'll order for us. I see the same table from last time is free, why don't you go grab it.”

 

“Sure, yeah.” Crowley gives him a look he hopes is reassuring and slinks his way through the other patrons.

 

'wahoo' he thinks, he's relieved the choosing part is over but still frustrated with himself. What kind of impression was he making?

 

He slides down into the chair and slumps over to rest his forehead on the table. 'uuuggh.'

 

After what feels like an eternity he hears a voice. “Rough day?” Aziraphale asks as he sits down at the table.

 

Crowley groans. “No spoons, only knives left.” What he means to say is 'yes.'

 

Aziraphale blinks at him for the second time in their visit. “I'm sure they'll bring out spoons with the tea...”

 

“What?” Crowley sits up, one eyebrow raises above his sunglasses.

 

“...what you said, do you need a spoon?”

 

“I need all the spoons, Angel.”

 

“I could get...”

 

“No, no sorry, it's a saying.” Crowley waves a hand making a vague gesture. He knows he should explain he just doesn't feel like he can explain 'spoon theory' properly at the the moment. He is naturally too low on spoons to do it. He'd try to remember to send a link to the essay and the wiki article later.

 

“Oh, oh well then, that's alright. Food should be here soon and spoons and forks to boot... I'm, I'm glad you could make it today.”

 

“Me too actually.” Crowley admits.

 

Half a tic later a server stops at their table and drops off their pot of tea, cups, cake, forks and spoons.

 

“That was quick, Thank you.” Aziraphale looks over what they've gotten and takes it upon himself to serve the tea. This time he fixes Crowley's cup for him, “Milk and sugar like before?”

 

Crowley nods and graciously accepts the cup. “Thanks.”

 

“This looks scrumptious,” Aziraphale hands Crowley a fork, “do have some.”

 

He dives in while Crowley hesitates. Crowley has some tea and watches Aziraphale, who looks like he's in heaven.

 

“hum... lots of apple flavor and nicely spiced. It's very good. I taste cinnamon but also just a hint of nutmeg. The vanilla buttercream compliments the cake nicely. It's not too dense it's actually quite fluffy for a cake with fruit in. The baker did a wonderful job.” Aziraphale speaks highly as he enjoys his bite.

 

Crowley decides to takes a piece and gives it a try, he has too after such a good review. He is surprised to find he likes it. The taste is good, really good, nothing is overly sweet and he could deal with the textures.

 

He rocks slightly, subtly, happily in his chair and goes in for another bite. He follows it with some tea and finds his brain feels a little clearer. He sighs, content.

 

“Do you bake?” He asks after another bite.

 

“Not really, not much... I've tried and had mixed results. But I do rather enjoy tasting the fruits of other's labor. Good food is like a celebration of all the good things in life, I think.”

 

Crowley had never really thought about food like that. He chews thoughtfully.

 

“Is apple your favorite?”

 

Crowley pulls the fork from his mouth and gestures with it as he answers. “I guess you could say that, it's my same food right now.”

 

“Same food? Is that a 'term', like an Autism term. I haven't heard it before.”

 

“Yeah, I think it's new... ish. Sometimes it's samefood, one word. Some people say 'samefooding' It's like your go-to food, the one that's part of your routine, the one you can always eat and know it's safe.”

 

“I see... that seems logical.”

 

“It's a thing.”

 

“So my routine of eating toast and jam for breakfast everyday would make toast and jam a same food... I do change jams though. I have a lovely boysenberry jam at the moment.”

 

Crowley nods but then stops “What, in the world, is a boy... boysin... boyson berry?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank so much for reading. Comments are certainly appreciated.
> 
> Spoon Theory Essay:  
> https://butyoudontlooksick.com/articles/written-by-christine/the-spoon-theory/
> 
> Spoon Theory Wiki:  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spoon_theory


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys talk about Special Interests. Things get angsty because I'm at heart an Angst writer and Crowley is an Angsty character. Some talk of Meltdown and being punished for that among other things 'Crowley's fall'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my First Fic to get over 200 kudos on AO3! Thank you, Thank you!!!

“Boysenberry is a hybrid between a raspberry and blackberry that is just a delectably sweet and tart berry of it's own. Developed in America... California I think. I heard about it on a cooking show.”

“Like Bake Off?” Crowley ventured a guess. He'd never watched a full episode but he'd definitely seen the clips of the drama when one contestant took another's ice cream out of the freezer, because he'd put it in the wrong fridge. 

“I don't think it was Bake Off. One of the others maybe an American one. I really like competitive cooking shows. Have you seen Cut Throat Kitchen? It's sort of a guilty pleasure of mine. That and Chopped. I like Bake Off too. They make such interesting things, they give me lots of ideas about the dishes I'd like to try. But I just really love when the cooks are running around the kitchen and someone's risotto is on fire in the pan.” 

“Wow I'm seeing a whole different side of you, Angel.” Crowley quirked an eyebrow, teasing. 

“Oh no,” Aziraphale takes Crowley's comment a bit more seriously than it was intended. “I don't want you to get the wrong impression. I'm not a sadistic person, truly. I don't know I just really enjoy hearing about the food and the competition on top makes it extra interesting.” 

“Game shows make me anxious.” Crowley scrunches up his face in disgust. He doesn't go out of his way to watch something that's going to make him anxious. 

“I love cheering on the underdog 'buck up you, times not up yet!”

Crowley smiles at Aziraphale's enthusiasm. “So is that your Special Interest, cooking shows? Or hum, fancy food?” 

“Ahhh...” Aziraphale doesn't answer. He looks unsure. “... you've hit upon something I'm curious about. I need some clarification. You see even after all the reading I've done I'm not quite sure what makes an interest a 'Special Interest?' I keep reading about young boys who are obsessed with train schedules and road maps and I just don't see myself liking anything quite like that in quite that way.” 

“Aahhh yeah, the whole train thing's definitely been blown out of proportion. Really anything that you're interested in can be a Special Interest. Do you think about cooking shows a lot of the time. Like when you're doing something else or you've got a free minute do you just naturally go back to cooking shows?”

“Yes, them and books! I love old books.” 

“Books, right so... do you relate like everything in you're daily life and school and stuff back to cooking shows or books?” Aziraphale starts making notes. Crowley thinks it's sweet how attentive Angel Sword is about learning about all this. “Has it ever been painful to have to do something else...like you have to go to work or school and all you want to do is read some old book? Do you ever find yourself filled with just so much excitement and joy over... I don't know a new episode or a rare book that you think you might explode?” 

“That's, that's what a Special Interest is?”

“Yeah, it's a little different from just something you're interested in, it's a little more than just liking something... some people have the same one forever. Other people change Special Interests fairly frequently.”

“What's your Special Interest?” It's an innocent question and certainly appropriate to the conversation. He doesn't know that it's kind of a sore subject for Crowley. 

“Mine? You know the usual...” Crowley puts his cup up to his mouth obscuring what he says next. 

Aziraphale leans in “I'm sorry, I missed that?” 

Crowley's ears start to turn red. 

He doesn't like to talk about his special interests. It's really a personal thing for him and over the years he's had some bad interactions because of his Special Interests. He's not gotten good reactions from people when he's tried to talk about the things that were most important and interesting to him. 

He was going to have to say something, so he defaults begrudgingly to his oldest S.I. “sssSpace, I like stuff about space.” 

“Like sciences fiction movies and aliens?” Aziraphale offers Crowley the last piece of their cake, but Crowley declines pulling a face at the thought of movies and aliens. 

“No, more like stars and planets and galaxies.”

“Oh how interesting!” Aziraphale's eyes get big. 

Crowley blinks behind his glasses. he's surprised at the other boy's reaction. It's most certainly not the one he usually gets from people when he brings up any of his Special Interests. 

He feels a little twinge of excitement start and he tries to ignore it, he' doesn't want to get his hopes up. 

“If you ever want to talk about it, I'm always ready to listen to you... what's the phrase... oh yes, info dump.” 

“Ha ah look at you using the lingo...” Crowley fidgets awkwardly. “I... that's... yeah sure maybe we can talk about it sometime.” 

He can't help he's hesitant to discuss his S.I.s with someone else. He'd been giving the impression over the years that it irritated people when he talked about the things he liked, things he cared 'too much' about. He's gotten in trouble more than once for talking more that other's felt was appropriate. Rude, he was told he was rude. 

“Have you been to a planetarium? There's one in Greenwich I hear...” Aziraphale sips his tea. 

“No... no I never. I used to check books out of the library as a kid.”

“Oh I do love a good library, so much to look at, so many stories to read!”

“I liked to look at the pictures in the books.” Crowley remembers being fascinated by the images of the surface of the moon. It was like no place on Earth, no place he'd ever seen. But it was reachable, humans had been there. “I would go up to the front desk with my arms full of books on space and the librarian would always ask, it never failed, she'd ask if I was doing a report for school. I'd say no and she'd say 'well it certainly looks like you are' and then my mother would hear and she wouldn't believe me when I said I didn't have an assignment due and that I was getting them for fun. Then I'd get in trouble for lying.”

“Goodness that's terrible.” Aziraphale frowns but then smiles fondly. “I once ordered every dessert off the restaurant menu while my mother was in the washroom. I scrubbed windows for a week before I was forgiven. It was worth it... they were all delicious.” 

Crowley nods knowingly, sometimes Special Interests get you in trouble for more than just being rude.

“I stayed late from school once when I wasn't suppose to. I was like 10 or 9 or something. I had questions and I wanted to ask the science teacher after classes. I had a plan but I didn't think to tell her or my mother. So I went to the classroom after the final bell and I waited but they never came back to the room. I kept thinking, just another minute, just five more minutes I'm sure she'll be back. Yeah, she had left for the day and I eventually got kicked out of the building by one of the custodians. By the time I got home my mother was furious. It was a disaster. I can't even remember what I wanted to ask the teacher that was so important.”

“did you get grounded?” 

Crowley studies the bottom of his tea cup. “My mother took away my telescope.”

“That must have been upsetting.” 

“It was.” 

It had been devastating at the time, like she'd take a piece of him and left a hole. 

He'd apologized for being late and for missing tea and for not calling her. She didn't seem to hear anything he said in his defense. 

In the end she'd told him he'd been terribly bad and deserved to be punished. 

He'd curled up on the floor in the corner of his room. He'd sobbed, bit his lip and curled his fists tight into his hair. His mother had yelled and told him to stop being so ridiculously dramatic. 

He'd thought for a long time that he deserved that. That he had been a dramatic little brat throwing a tantrum. 

He knows now that he'd not done the right thing at the school and had probably scared his mother half to death. But he hadn't been throwing a tantrum or being dramatic. He had been genuinely distraught by her punishment and had been having a meltdown because of it and probably because he'd not gotten dinner, and things hadn't gone as he'd planned, and he didn't get his question answered, and he'd had to interact with the custodian who he didn't know, and his routine had been thrown off and he was being shouted at and a zillion other things... 

“Did you get it back, the telescope?” Aziraphale interrupts his thoughts. 

“No.” He hadn't been able to stop being bad. 'Take your punishment like a man.' they'd kept telling him. But it was on his mind almost constantly that he'd lost his telescope. Then he got in trouble at school for being distracted, for not finishing his work, for knocking into another student's science project and breaking it. 

His mother told him he hadn't been good enough. He didn't deserve to have his telescope back. 

“really? My goodness.” Aziraphale warms up Crowley's and his cups and asks innocently. “Does she still have it?”

“Hum... I don't know. I don't know what happened to it Angel.”

“You never asked? Even after all these years.”

Crowley shakes his head and warms his hands on his now warm cup. 

“Maybe you could call and find out.”

“I can't...”

“But it would...”

“I can't, we don't speak.” Crowley says it very matter of factually and it takes a second for Aziraphale to understand what he's saying. 

He puts down the fork he'd been fidgeting with and asks seriously. “You don't speak with your mother?” 

“I was kicked out, going on four years now, she and my stepfather don't want anything to do with me.” 

If it wasn't such a traumatic event for him, it might have been fun for Crowley to see peoples reactions when he tells them the about his family life. People get weird, people get comedically angry for him, people get distant. Not that he's told many people. 

Aziraphale gets quiet. “Crowley... I'm so sorry... was it, was it for being Autistic?” 

Crowley almost laugh at that but honestly “That among other things.” His gender, sexuality, Autism... just being a general pain in the ass probably. “I asked too much of my parents, I think... I asked them for more understanding and acceptance than they were willing to give.” 

Aziraphale shakes his head adamantly. His voice is soft but strong and insistent. “No one deserves that... you didn't deserve that!” 

“Thanks,” Crowley means it, he takes a breath. “It's over and done with, I'm getting on with it.” 

Aziraphale hums in approval. “You're in school, right. That's good. What is it that you're studying?” 

“Art.” He'd been undecided for a long time, longer than he should have been, he finally settled on art. 

“Really? Not Astronomy?” 

“Maths, Angel, Maths. I don't have the maths grades to major in any of the sciences.” Crowley says with frustration. He wishes he could just get numbers, he hated that maths held his back in his studies. 

“Maybe they would...” Aziraphale starts to suggest they would make an exception but Crowley interrupts. 

“Oh right, sure, I'll just go to the science department, excuse me ma'am, you're a scientist are you? I'm no good at maths but I was wondering if I could major in your maths dependent field, I'm ever so good at naming all the moons of Jupiter and know what a neutron star is.” Crowley's voice is filled with sarcasm. 

Aziraphale snorts, amused by Crowley's act. “Alright, alright, I understand. Why art than?”

“I know it irritates my mother.” Maybe he's not totally 'over it' yet. 

“Well when you put it that way.” 

“Yeah, s'alright, I like what I'm doing now. Things would be all good if my roommate would bugger off.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A third meeting... Crowley is running late, Aziraphale tries not to panic. Auditory Processing Disorder, Function Labels and book recs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to go and get out some Good Omens angst with my fic 'Slides of Stars' now I feel like I can write on this one without getting too angsty.

\- how goes it with the roommate tonight? - Aziraphale sits in his bed and texts Crowley when he reaches a good stopping point in the book he's reading.

\- annoying as usual -

\- bad? -

\- I feel like he and his friends are always lurking about -

\- just like hanging around in the flat? -

\- Yeah, like all the time now, what are they even doing besides making my life difficult?? If they're not hanging out in the kitchen or playing the tv loud in the sitting room, they're making a mess in the bathroom -

\- oh no a mess in the bathroom?!? 💩!?-

\- not like that 🙃 thank goodness, no, he had like three or four people all crammed into our bathroom the other night all dying their hair -

\- that's different -

\- yeah, like are you serious? It was a mess and it smelled and he knows I take a shower at night and I was planning on taking a shower and now my week is all thrown off -

\- what about showering in the morning☀️ -

\- do I look like a morning person to you? -

\- never judge a book by it's cover -

\- Yeah well, I shower at night and I don't like it, so I have a plan and I just want to get it done and over with -

\- I love taking a shower, I have this shampoo that smells amazing 🌲🌳🌹-

\- it's too much work, I don't like being wet, I don't like being cold, and it takes all my spoons -

\- spoons = energy, right? -

\- Yeah it drains my energy, my time, it's blah -

\- I like to shower in the morning, gets it out of the way and I can get on to other things -

\- you would be a morning person wouldn't you Angel. Honestly if it was acceptable I'd shower in the middle of the day. That's when I have the most energy to get things like that with lots of stuff to do done, but people see that as odd -

\- I never thought about showering during the day -

\- if I ever get my own place I'll take a shower when I damn well please -

\- that would be good, I hope you get to do that and I hope things aren't crazy tonight -

\- thanks, I'll see you tomorrow ~🐍 -

Aziraphale is standing in the cafe just inside the doorway scrolling through his text messages with Crowley trying to verify the date and time for their meeting third meeting. He's starting to worry when a new text comes in.

\- got stuck at work. Sorry, I'm on my way now, be there in five -

Aziraphale breathes a sigh of relief. He'd gotten to the cafe early and Crowley wasn't here. He started to worry he'd gotten the date or the time wrong or that something had happened. Especially when the time they were suppose to meet came and went.

But he's on his way, so it's alright.

\- No problem,🙂 shall I order tea for two? -

\- Yep, sounds good👍 -

Aziraphale gets in line. He goes over his order 'tea for two please' 'tea for two please'

Of course the He can't help but look in the pastry case, it looks tempting, it always looks tempting. Crowley had enjoyed sharing the cake last time. Maybe they could split something again.

Aziraphale looks to see if they have any apple cake. There's none that he sees in the case. There is an apple tart and some apple turnovers. Maybe Crowley would like one of those

Aziraphale practices his new order 'tea for two and two apple turnovers' 'tea for two and two apple turnovers.'

“Next” The server at the counter calls.

Aziraphale steps up, smiles and is about to place his order when someone in the kitchen calls out to the server and she holds up her hand prompting him to hold.

Aziraphale closes his mouth and waits.

He's unsure if he should step back from the counter or if he should stay were he is... he tenses with uncertainty. He doesn't mind waiting but being unsure is making him anxious. He was ready to go and there are people waiting behind him.

The server returns to her register and glaces in his direction and then down at the register. Aziraphale isn't sure if she's ready for him or not, she didn't say.

He shifts partly out of nerves, partly hoping to remind her he's there.

Finally she looks up at him. “What're you having?”

“Hum tea for two, please.” He says promptly.

“Tea for two,” She puts in his order. “that'll be...”

“Oh, oh and and two turnovers, apple, please.” He quickly amends.

“Those are sold Love, we had a phone in order.” She says, she's not being unkind about it but Aziraphale can't help but feel like the news hurts.

his plan falls apart and he flounders.

“Anything else I can get you?”

“I...” Turnovers, he'd planned to get turnovers and now he doesn't know what to do. “Just the tea please.”

He pays, he feels a bit shaky about it all.

“Alright we'll bring it out to you.”

He thanks her and goes to find a seat. The table they've sat at before is taken. Aziraphale heads to the one next to it.

He puts his bag on the back of the chair and sits down heavily, he feels like kicking himself.

He should have ordered something else, something other than the turnovers. If he'd just calmed down and taken a breath maybe he could have thought of something else, said 'i'll take the apple tart then.' anything instead of panicking.

Crowley gets there just after the tea gets to the table. He puts his sketchbook on the table and falls into the empty chair. “How's it going Angel?”

Aziraphale looks up from pouring tea. “I couldn't get the turnovers.”

Crowley looks at Aziraphale and quirks his head. “say that again...” He requests.

Aziraphale blinks. “I couldn't get the turnovers.”

“One more time, sorry.” Crowley sits forward a little with a serious look on his face.

Aziraphale pauses and looks at him and tries to make sure he's speaking clearly. “I couldn't get the turnovers.”

“Oh?” Crowley questions and mostly looks confused.

Aziraphale feels like he needs to explain it all. “I... I wanted to get something to go with the tea and they didn't have any of the cake we had last time...so I tried to get the apple turnovers, they looked good, but by the time I got to the counter they'd apparently all been ordered by someone on the phone and then I just kind of panicked and I didn't ordered anything... oh blah.” He says with a huff.

“Oh, ok, I got that.”

“You got it?” Aziraphale isn't sure what he means.

“ngk...I'm just having a bad auditory day.”

“Auditory? Do you mean like hearing. I didn't know, I can try and speak more clearly.”

Crowley shakes his head. “Not much you can do, I have Auditory Processing Disorder, lots of Autistics do. It's not my hearing, it's my brain just not accepting input in the moment. I can hear but what I hear doesn't sound like words. Sometimes my brain catches up and I get it like a second after the fact sometimes I just have to ask people to repeat themselves, sometimes repeat themselves a lot.”

“And this is something that happens to a lot of Autistic? A lot of us?” Aziraphale doesn't think he remembers seeing anything about this in what he's read.

“I think it's fairly common, yeah.”

Aziraphale thinks for a second. “”Does it sound like the adults in the Peanuts movies, have you seen those, the adults all sound like 'wah wah wah' and it's not words.”

“Yeah I think it does sometimes.”

Aziraphale shakes his head. “I've had that off and on forever, it was confusing because just suddenly I'd not get anything. I brought it up to a teacher once and she said maybe I was just concentrating too hard.”

“Concentrating too hard?”

“Well I was trying to listen to what she was saying and thinking about how my mother told me I need to look people in the eye when they talk to me so they know I'm listening so I was trying to do that and then suddenly I couldn't understand anything she was saying.”

“aaah yeah, that sounds like it would do it, it happens to me a lot when I have to shift gears, or there's a lot of background noise, or someone says something I wasn't expecting like non sequitur or I was concentrating on something else.”

“What do you think caused it just now?'

“Hard to say, I was focusing really hard on getting here and not tripping and falling on my face and the noise is here is different than outside and I was probably expecting you to say something different. Not that I would have understood if you had. I don't know, it just happens sometimes.”

“Oh my... I need to write this down.” Aziraphale passes one tea cup to Crowley and reaches into his bag to get his notebook and a pen. “What did you call it... Auditory...”

“Processing Disorder. APD.”

“Does it happen to you often?”

“I think everyone is different, it happen enough when I was little that my mother sent me to get my hearing tested more than once. She said I wouldn't respond when my name was called... honestly that could have been APD or could have just been me being Autistic and being too engrossed in what I was doing to hear my name being called or a bit of both.”

“And you're understanding me alright now?”

“Yeah, I'll let you know if I'm not.”

Aziraphale nods. “So what held you up at work?”

“uuughh, It should have been quick and easy this morning but I got cornered by this older guy who didn't care I was wearing headphones, he wanted to talk and he was going to talk at me whether I was interested or not.”

Crowley adds sugar to his tea and milk and stirs it.

“I tried... I did to be pleasant. That's what the boss says I have to do... 'you have to at least be pleasant' he says. What's that even mean? Be pleasant. Why couldn't the guy be 'pleasant' to me. I stood there all the while he was talking and even smiled as he was holding me up. I knew he was going to make me late but I didn't know how to get away.”

Aziraphale scrunches his nose and makes a face. “I've worked customer service jobs, I'm not always great with customers, it can be difficult.”

“That's an understatement.” Crowley puts his hands through his hair. “I picked my job because it's not even customer service technically and still I get cornered and stuck having to play neurotypical.”

“Where do you work?” Aziraphale asks taking a sip of his tea.

“The hospital.”

“Really?” That was a surprise.

“I take care of the plants.”

“That's really interesting. You must be really good with plants.”

“Good with plants, bad with people.”

“You should put that on a t-shirt.”

“Ha, I'd wear it...”

They fall into silence, Aziraphale is surprised that it doesn't feel awkward. He can't say he's been around too many people where he's experienced a comfortable silence. But with Crowley it's just different, it's easier.

Aziraphale flips around in his notebook until he comes across some questions he jotted down to ask.  
“I have some question, if you don't mind me asking.”

“Course, 's what I'm here for.” Crowley agrees and looks rather pleased with the arrangement.

“Ok, how do you feel about function labels?” They are in lots of the stuff Aziraphale has been reading but he's seen where some people don't like them.

“I think the idea of function labels, High Functioning and Low functioning, is more harmful than helpful.”

“I've seen people say that online, but why?” Aziraphale hasn't quite understood it why function labels are bad, Autism is a label and is helpful, at least it is to him.

“Because function labels just wind up allowing people, allistics, to dismiss Autistic people. If you're labeled 'Low Functioning' than you can't advocate for yourself because they'll say you're too low functioning to understand and if you're labeled 'High Functioning' you get dismissed when asking for help because obviously you don't need it.”

Crowley moves the zipper up and down on his sweatshirt, stimming as he talks.

“It just doesn't fit, there are plenty of Autistics who are labeled low functioning who can advocate for themselves and do lots of thing even though they may not speak with their mouth parts or be able to live independently and there are plenty of high functioning people who could benefit from assistance and understanding. Oh and the labels are used to dismiss Autistic adults all the time. The whole 'you're too high functioning to speak for my low functioning child who will never say 'I love you.'' argument” Crowley says in a snide voice.

“oh, oh goodness, I could see that.”

“I've heard alternatives suggested like 'high support needs and low support needs'... I don't know if that's an improvement or will just lead to the same issues.” Crowley shakes his head “I don't know the solution.”

“Are there any books you would recommend?”

“What, on Autism?” Crowley stops his zipping and takes another sip of tea.

“Yes...”

“I don't... read a lot of books. Lots of them are geared towards parents of Autistic children anyway. I have heard good things about the book Neurotribes... I looked at a few pages. It's a thick book.” He makes a displeased expression.

“I like thick books.”

“Well you should check it out, it's pretty new, library could have it.”

Zira makes a note and then furrows his brow. “Wait, you don't read books?”

“Just not a big book person, me.” Crowley shrugs and Azirphale's mouth hangs open and he sputters.

“I just... that doesn't... how can you not be a book person?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have loved hearing from people about how they relate to these characters, it has been a joy. Thank you so much for reading and sharing.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.


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